


Where Have You Been?

by Lizzy0305



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, M/M, Missing Scene, Mutual Pining, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-12 04:58:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17461049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzy0305/pseuds/Lizzy0305
Summary: Tired of listening to his friends’ bickering during the Yule Ball, Harry goes out to get some fresh air. When he reappears, he looks rather bewildered as if he had seen a ghost. Or worse. Just where exactly has Harry been?





	1. Intrigued

**Author's Note:**

> _I recently rewatched Goblet of Fire and remembered I wanted to write about this scene for ages. I've had a document since like three years now with this title and nothing else in it, because I didn't know where Harry had been. Well now I do._
> 
> _Thanks going out for Bridget for helping me out and editing this. All remaining mistakes are mine :)_

Harry goes out the main door, leaving behind merrily dancing people. Everywhere he goes couples stand around, couples hold hands, couples kiss, couples argue. He has had enough of it, thank you, he just needs some fresh air to get Cho and Diggory out of his mind. Really that’s all he needs.

He passes by winding bushes where couples whisper secretly, almost bumps into a boy from Durmstrang kissing a girl, most likely one of the Patil twins, Harry cannot tell, not that he cares. Good for them, but could they please, _please_ do this someplace else?

Suddenly, he hears sounds coming from behind a bush. It’s different than the rest, deeper grunts, loud thuds, cloth ripping. He stops and listens. There it is again, a low groan, almost a growl. He wonders who it might be, considers moving around the hedge to take a peek.

Low voices, angry and urging come next. Harsh words then swearing. Harry moves silently. His belly twists. Are they fighting?

A timid voice answers the first, Harry cannot tell what the whispered words are, but he can hear the submission in them. The first, deeper rumble, isn’t touched. He answers harshly with something nothing more than a hoarse hiss.

Two men, for sure, but who, Harry wonders. He inches closer to the bush trying to see through the leaves, but it vain.

Mumbles sound up, inaudible.

“I said shut the fuck up,” the other man answers and Harry recognizes him at last. _Snape_.

His pulse quickens immediately. What is Snape doing lurking out here. Who is the other man with him? It sounds like he’s threatening him. Since when was Snape so reckless though? There are people here from the Ministry.

Harry moves closer, wanting to hear them clearly, listen to everything Snape says. Is this about the Tournament? Does he know something about who is threatening Harry’s life? Harry would also be grateful for even a little hint about the second task.

He finds a little hole to look through, but has to kneel down to the ground to see the two wizards. He peeks through.

The other man is right in front of Snape, he’s on his knees, too, just like Harry. Harry cannot tell who it is. Snape’s robe is in the way. Is he begging for Snape? Trying to get away from him? What the hell is going on?

Snape moves, jerks away. “Watch your teeth,” he growls and grabs the man’s head. His robe slides away and Harry almost falls back.

Oh no, Karkaroff’s definitely not begging. He could hardly say a word. His mouth is full of Snape’s cock.

o.O.o

Karkaroff isn’t good for many things, but at least _this_ he does well. It has been a while, and Snape is content with even him for now.

Back, when they were young Igor was someone. Igor meant power. Having him on his knees meant Snape had conquered that power. Now, this is just a reminder of the glorious days, a shadow of what used to be. It doesn’t even feel that good, but it’s still better than nothing. It still needs to happen. It’s what’s expected from him.

He grips the hair and thrusts forward, shuddering. It’s way too cold out here, not even the Warming Charm is enough to keep the freezing air away. But Igor’s mouth is hot enough for now, so Snape pushes in hard, lets the head of his cock bump against the back of the man’s throat. He can feel Karkaroff gag, feel his muscles seizing, contracting around him. He thrusts again, pushes forward, relentless. What a fucking delight.

He does not moan, he would not let Igor have that pleasure. He hisses at best, like a god damn displeased cobra, then his hips push forward, and he thrusts in deep.

Igor’s grunts, painful but needy. He should be silenced, Snape knows if someone hears them, _sees them_ , his career is over, and that would mean the end of his life too – no job, no reason for Voldemort to keep him alive once he returns, which Snape is sure would happen soon. The burning in his lower left arm makes sure to remind him of that every moment now.

Still he does not silence him. He wants Karkaroff to hear the depraved, desperate sounds he makes.

Hands grab his thigh as Igor swallows, saliva dripping down his goatee. He looks like a mess, not in a good way. Snape almost loses it, he closes his eyes for a second and concentrates on the sensation before he goes soft. The hands on his legs slide up his body and he looks down frowning.

“What is it, Igor?” he asks, soft voice cutting like sharp fangs. “I’m not your gentle lover you can cling to.”

He spits on him, but the hands do not fall away. Igor whines, whimpers, Snape looks down on him.

“I just need your mouth, keep the rest of your body parts to yourself.” he snarls.

The hands are finally off his body. He smiles down at Igor, the expression carries no warmth, just cruelty. It’s a warning, but it’s more than enough. He grips into hair even more viciously then pushes in until Igor’s nose is in his pubic hair, his balls almost down the man’s throat.

Snape looks up at the sky. He hates it. The stars that are watching and the act itself. Yet, he needs to think of the future, needs to keep in mind that he cannot trust anyone. The day might come when his character will be judged once again, and mercy shown in the past might betray him. No one can know, who he really is. Karkaroff like many others knows only the Snape he lets the whole world see. And that Snape loves this.

He needs the relief but wishes he could get it anywhere else. Any other way. Not with this filth, this coward.

He hears a noise, no more then heavy breathing. His is still controlled and calm, and Karkaroff is choking on Snape’s cock, so his breathing is a lot heavier than that.

Timid, fast, surprised, coming from the bushes nearby. Snape touches his wand and sends a Biding Spell. He does not allow himself to panic. Obliviation is an easy option still.

He thrusts a couple more times, fucks Igor’s mouth as if he’s nothing more than a faceless, bodyless hole. It’s a heartless thought, but otherwise this would never end. He pushes the man away at the last moment and comes on his own hand. He’d never allowed himself to come on anyone – sperm is more useful in dark magic than blood.

He immediately cleans himself then kicks at Karkaroff. “Fuck off,” he barks. Karkaroff backs away slowly at first, then Snape sends red, warning sparks at his feet and he finally stands. He stumbles once then runs off.

Snape turns around, walking towards the bush to finally find out who the idiot spying on him is.

He points his wand at the dark shadow, who’s frantically trying to break free.

Round glasses glint in the moonlight. Snape sighs.

“Who the fuck else would it be.”

o.O.o

Harry, too, wants to run away, but he finds his legs bound.

“Fuck… fuck-fuck-fuck,” he grunts tearing at the vines, but they do not let go. His legs are tied to the ground as roots hold him secure. Snape moves closer, pointing his wand at him. This is it, Harry thinks, the end. Snape would never let him live after this.

“Out for a little stargazing, are we, Potter?” Snape drawls.

The voice makes the blood freeze in Harry’s vein. It’s pure fury yet Snape does not cast a spell.

“That’s unfair,” Harry thinks, but he finds the words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself. “I’m not the one in the wrong this time.”

His mouth is bigger than his brain, though he knows why the latter part of his body decided to take a vacation. It moved south like migrating birds in the winter.

Snape just raises his eyebrow, the belittling expression on his face tells Harry how much he thinks of what’s fair and what’s not. He flicks his wand and finally the binding lets go of Harry. He still doesn’t get up, just stares at Snape from down there.

This is what Karkaroff saw too. Snape towering over him, full of anger and disdain. Harry is not fooled, he understood the dynamics of what went on. This was no secret meeting between lovers. Snape clearly just marked his territory.

“Stand,” Snape orders, voice cutting, deep, cruel.

Harry obeys. The next moment Snape’s wand is in his face.

“You can't hurt me,” Harry says quickly, convinced he’s right, though also perfectly aware that Snape could, in fact, hurt him any way he wants to and make it so that nobody will ever find out.

Snape sighs again, suddenly looking almost tired. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll obliviate you.”

“The fuck you will,” Harry growls. “I’m not letting you anywhere near my mind.”

Snape chuckles darkly. “I’d like to see you try.”

Snape hasn’t even finished the sentence when Harry already lurched forward and hit his wand out of his fingers. He himself is more surprised than Snape that that worked.

Wandless Snape just studies him, rubbing his aching wrist. “Attacking a teacher… you could get expelled for that.” He comments as he bows down to pick up his wand. Harry does not stop him, nor does he pull out his own.

“I keep your secret, if you keep mine.” Harry offers.

He holds out his hand for Snape. The man eyes it, then takes it. Finally, Harry dares to breath.

There’s a strange smile on Snape’s face as they shake hands and Harry does not understand why, then as they let go, it hits him. He hopes the wetness on Snape’s hand was just sweat.

They walk back towards the castle silently. Snape doesn’t threaten him, as he expects, he does not offer vivid descriptions of what would happen to Harry would he open his mouth. He just walks, deep in his thoughts. He does not look relaxed at all given what just happened. He looks just as pent up as during the whole scene.

“I guess you haven’t seen much of that,” Snape says suddenly.

“I’ve seen plenty of blow jobs,” Harry grunts thinking of that one single porn movie he had accidently seen on the telly one night when the Dursley’s were away.

Snape snorts. “Men, Potter. I meant _men_.” he clarifies. “I doubt your dear uncle and aunt would have tolerated something this vile and disgusting to taint their beautiful life.” He says, tone clearly mocking the Dursley’s.

He was, of course, perfectly correct. Aunt Petunia had always been suspicious of any two men who were alone standing relatively close together. She often murmured various insult under her breath, while covering Dudley’s eyes.

Harry’s eyes on the other hand have never been covered perhaps that is why he didn’t look away from Snape either. Or maybe there is another reason for that.

They are almost back in the castle. Snape holds the door open for him and motions for him to go inside.

Harry stops next to him. “It wasn’t.” He notes with a shrug.

“Wasn’t what?’ Snape barks.

“Vile and disgusting.” says Harry.

There is silence. Snape watches him then huffs surprised. Harry stands the relentless gaze of obsidian eyes heroically.

“Then what adjectives would you use to describe such an act, Potter?” Snape asks slowly.

Harry swallows hard; words are going through his head fast like lighting.

“Satisfying…” he says his voice shaking slightly.

He regards Snape for a moment, looking already for the other word. He finds it, then says more levelly, “Intriguing.”

“Mm.” Is all Snape says as a response, but his hand moves and gently pulls away Harry’s dress robe. He looks at the erection tenting Harry’s pants, studies it for a long second, then obsidian eyes are back up on Harry’s face.

He says nothing at all just jerks his head for Harry to start walking again. Harry does so, glad that his little stunt hasn’t cost him all of Gryffindor’s points, or even worse.

Students are milling around which is why Harry almost yelps when he feels a hand on his waist.

“I would never do that to you. But meet me there after midnight and I’ll teach you what satisfying really means.” Snape says and quickening his steps, he sweeps by, robes billowing as he enters the Great Hall.

Harry stumbles towards the stairs, mostly in a trance. He did not hear that correctly. He couldn’t have heard that correctly. That was an offer. An impossible offer.  

“Where have you been?” Hermione’s accusing words gets to him and he snaps up his head. She’s in his face, her red rimmed eyes are full of tears.

Harry doesn’t know what to say. _With Snape_ almost slips out of his mouth but luckily, Hermione starts speaking.

“Never mind, off to bed, both of you!” she orders and Harry’s more than happy to leave all of this behind him. He swears to himself he won't get out of bed tonight or any other night from now on.

They run up the stairs with Ron. What a scary night.

o.O.o

Severus lurks in the dark like a criminal. Given why he’s here, the description fits. He _is_ a criminal. Potter is underage after all. If anyone finds out, he’ll be in Azkaban before the sun rises. No questions asked.

Not that he believes for even a moment that Potter will show up. Potter doesn’t have the balls. His mouth is big but when it comes to acts, he’s a coward. Severus almost didn’t come either. It is pointless after all. Potter won't come so why bother. But the little devil on his shoulder keeps whispering to him sinful thoughts. Two words appear over and over, and they do not let Severus rest.

What if… He wants to know, wants to make sure.

He hears footsteps. It cannot be. It’s simply impossible. He looks around from his dark spot, listening to the approaching noise. Eyes narrowed he tries to see the movement in the dark, but there’s nothing.

It’s just a hedgehog, he thinks almost relieved.

“I’m an idiot.” says someone close by and Severus all but jumps out of his skin. “I’m an idiot, I’m an idiot, I’m an idiot.”

Potter’s voice is here, but his body is nowhere to be seen.

That blasted cloak, Severus thinks, eyes looking for any distortion of the scene around him. He knows Potter is close. He can only remain calm because he also knows Potter cannot see him unless he moves out of the shadow or Potter bumps into him.

Given his luck, that might just happen tonight.

“What the hell am I doing here?” Potter keeps questioning himself out loud.

 _Taking up on an offer_ , Severus thinks _. An offer you never should have listened to._

Potter shrugs off the Invisibility Cloak. He’s wearing a coat and jeans but he’s still freezing apparently, because the next moment, he wraps his arm around himself. He looks around, checks his watch. Looks around again. Far away, the castle’s grand clock chimes midnight.

They are both here, Severus cannot even believe that.

This is ludicrous. He does not show himself. What the bloody hell is Potter doing here? What does he think will happen here? What is he waiting for? He cannot, for the love of god, _want_ for things to happen here.

Severus stares at the boy, watches him now that he knows he cannot be noticed. Potter’s anxious. He keeps glancing at his watch, keeps looking around, waiting for something, for footsteps, for a shadow to move in the dark.

Waiting for Severus to come.

Why would you, you idiot? Severus wants to call out from his hideaway. But he remains silent. He won't speak. He won't move.

“Where are you?” Potter whispers after another glance on his clock.

Go away, Severus tells him. Give up, go away. You don’t want this.

“Where the bloody hell are you?” Potter says looking around. He shudders, rubbing his arm.

Severus could move, step forward. Potter would be burning in minutes. But he watches the boy and shakes his head silently. He’s so young. _Too_ young. Innocent. Severus’s not interested, not really. Not yet. The idea sticks though, in the back of his mind. Potter, a young man not a boy, on his knees, on his back anyway, anywhere.

A man, not this boy.

There is a Severus Snape who would do it. Who would step forward and push Potter to the ground. Press a thumb between pink lips and force them open. A Snape who could look into the boy’s green eyes and fuck his mouth. Someone who would enjoy it all.

That man is not him though. Not when it comes to Potter. He could never do that to Potter.

Why is he here? Why are they here?

“Fuck you…” Potter grunts, gathering his cloak from the ground. “Fuck you, Snape.”

It’s better like this. Severus tells himself. The world needs to see that other Snape, that vile man. No one is allowed to know of the other one. He cannot trust anyone. A whispered word, a secret told to the wrong person and his life is over. Nothing is worth that much. Perhaps, not even Potter.

When the bush moves signalling Potter’s leave, Severus steps out of the little dark hideout too and walks the other way.

“I knew it, you fucking coward,” Potter says behind him.

Severus twirls around. He’s glaring at the boy and his audacity. How dare Potter trick him?

“Why the hell did you come here?” Severus hisses instead of the many other insults that comes to mind.

“You _told_ me to come here!” Potter yells.

“Lower your god damn voice,” Severus snarls and steps closer. “It was a joke. I was taunting you, can't you see?”

“Then why are _you_ here?” Potter asks unfazed.

Severus just gapes, opens his mouth but no words come out. Is Potter insane? What does he want? Why doesn’t he leave, run away?

“Go back to the school.”

“You are a coward.” The statement sends a wild fury through Severus’ body.

“I am not a coward. Out of the two of us, someone has to think reasonably here, Potter, and that’s clearly not you. I cannot touch you. I _will not_ touch you. You must understand that.”

“Why ask me here then?” Potter asks angry now, too. “Why show up? If it’s just a joke, you wouldn’t have come.”

“I never thought you would be here,” Severus admits, voice quiet. “Not for a moment, not really.”

“Well,” Potter says, gently now. “I’m here. What now?”

“Now?” Severus asks back, watching as Potter moves closer and closer until a hand is on his chest. “Now you go back to the castle. You go to bed and you sleep. You will never mention this again to me or to anyone else. You forget about this.”

Potter steps back, folds his arms across his chest.

“Look at yourself,” Severus tells him. “You’re pouting like a child. Because that’s what you are. A child of mere fourteen years.”

“How old?” Potter steps up. He grabs Severus’s collar and pulls him down. “How old do I have to be?”

Fucking hell, Severus can feel his breath, he can taste it. “I don’t fucking know!” He jerks away. “Old enough to drink? To do magic? How about old enough so I won't get imprisoned for wanting you!?” Severus snarls.

Potter leans in his face. “Give me a fucking number!” He hisses in a low, threatening voice.

“Twenty.” Severus says the first thing that comes to his mind. “There, happy? It doesn’t matter. You’ll still be too young. You’ll always be too young for me.”

“We’ll see,” Potter says then marches away.

Severus stares after him. This did not just happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Before you take my head, i did consider writing this a second chapter. I'm not going to lie, i am still considering it. and i'd be happy to do it if you want me, too. But I kinda think, this is good as it is. I kinda like that whether they meet in the future or not is up for your imagination.  
>  _God it was fun writing this dark severus. boi he's hot.__


	2. Twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Why I thought you would let me off the hook just this once is beyond me.... but let me warn you, this probably won't be as good as what you imagined. Anyway, I'm really grateful for the amazing response to this fic though. Thanks my lovelies <3_

The first time they meet after the war is during a Ministry Gala.

Potter’s still just turning eighteen in a couple weeks. He’s barely more than a child, a boy, who has seen much. The dust of the war is all but still on him, yet they drag him up onto a stage where they pin a little medal on his chest. He smiles. Green eyes glinting. He never looks at Severus. Why would he?

Severus is nothing more just a forgiven murderer. He’s lucky to not be in Azkaban. He’s lucky to be alive, in fact.

Why the hell is he here? Why did he come to this stupid Gala? He takes a sip of his drink. Not for this cheap ass champagne that’s for sure.

He scratches the scars on his neck, watches Potter as he shakes hand with Kingsley. Watches him go off the stage, smiling, waving, until a horde of redheads swallow him up. The girl is there, looking pretty and innocent like Potter. Hand in hand they go out.

He sees another glimpse of Potter later on during the evening. Oh yes, he is still just a boy, soft smile, politeness and gleaming eyes. Yet, he is also a different person. Definitely not that fourteen-year-old in front of him anymore. There is something in those green eyes, something lurking there, some dark secret. What do you hide?

He downs his drink. He frowns at the glass. This champagne is horrible. He looks up, but Potter is gone. Hopefully, gone from his life, too. It’s better this way. Or at least it will be.

It will be better, he tells himself. He has no remorse. And still. And still.

He knows he’s only here for Potter. _Because of_ Potter. Just to see him, that is. Make sure he is still… what? Alive? An idiot? Too young?

He shakes his head. He cannot think about that. He should have forgotten that long ago. And he did. He promised himself he did, he does not dream of it anymore, yet still here he is standing in the middle of a crowd that does not know him, will never know him, not truly.

Except one, of course, who played his role all so well and kept Severus' secret all this time. Surprisingly loyal. Potter never said a word to anyone about that night. It became their little secret. He had never hinted at it even to Snape. Not with words at least. But Severus could see the memories in him, prowling in his gaze when their eyes met over cauldrons. He could hear the accusing words, relive these heated moments when their minds connected in Occlumency. He could feel the disappointment, taste the anger, smell the bitter scent of revulsion in the air as the boy watched him kill Albus.

And yet. It was neither hate, nor anger in those beautiful green eyes that night in the Shack.

This ends here, Severus tells himself. It must. Otherwise he cannot move on. He grabs another glass of that awful champagne.

“Goodbye,” he murmurs, thinking of Potter, of the fourteen-year-old boy and of the older one who has been in the room just minutes ago.

“Leaving already?”

“Fucking hell,” Severus growls brushing the spilled champagne from his dress robes. He turns and faces Potter. “Must you sneak up on people all the time?”

Potter shrugs. “I thought you’re the all-seeing spy no one can surprise.”

 _Oh, you can_ , Severus thinks. Potter looks… dashing. He’s not hot, not really. Handsome, perhaps. The dress robe is tailored for him and fits him perfectly. Green eyes glimmer. Potter smiles, drinks a sip of champagne.

_Old enough to drink._

Severus frowns. “I have to go,” he says.

He turns around. A hand on his arm stops him. He wants to growl at the boy. He swallows it back, afraid that it would turn into a whimper half way.

“What’s the hurry?” Potter says, voice casual, hand on Severus’ arm casual. Everything is so god damn casual, but it’s not. Snape knows it’s not.

“You haven’t even been to the garden.”

What does that even mean? Why would he even go to the… oh _garden_.

Potter couldn’t possibly mean that. Severus shakes off the hand. He stalks away. He cannot listen to this. He’s too young. He’s _Potter_.

 _He’s almost eighteen_ a voice says in Potter’s casual voice.

Barely legal. He argues back. First sign of madness really.

He marches out of the room, ignoring Potter. He strides across the great marble hallways. Kingsley is there, opens his mouth to speak, Severus storms past him, barely seeing the man. He’s gotten away with murder, he won’t get arrested for child abuse. He only hesitates at the front door. He looks back. Double winged glass doors lead to the garden.

He shakes his head. “No.” He says out loud, pushes down the handle and runs down the stairs taking two at a time. The moment his feet touches the pavement he disappears.

o.O.o

Harry watches him vanish. He smashes his fisted hand against the wall. Fucking coward.

He hates this. He hates this Gala, the Ministry, he hates the people lingering around him eyeing him like a war souvenir. He hates Snape for being such a bloody coward. He hates himself for wanting to go after him.

He looks around. Charlie is watching him. Harry considers it, marks it down as a bad idea, then gestures towards the garden. Charlie nods almost invisibly.

Harry walks out. No one’s there. It’s silent and empty out here, just like inside him. He hears the glass door close and the footsteps on the small, white pebbles.

“What’s going on?” Charlie says.

Harry twirls around, walks up to him. He kisses his neck, cups his cock. Rubs it.

“Stop, Harry,” Charlie grunts, pushing him away slightly. “Did you forget where we are?”

How could he forget. He’s perfectly aware he’s not where he wants to be. Every inch of his body knows he is in the wrong place.

“The people inside there know you to be involved with my little sister,” Charlie says but doesn’t move away when Harry starts rubbing him again. “Or did you finally realize you don’t care about that anymore?”

“I don’t,” Harry grunts. What does it matter? He’d figured it’s better this way. They’ve agreed it would be better for everyone to let the illusion run on. They are free to do anything though, date anyone, just be a little cautious. This isn’t cautious at all, but Harry does not care anymore. The whole world can go fuck itself.

Charlie does not push him down, he knows better by now not to touch him. Nowhere, no matter what, unless Harry specifically asks for it. Which he usually doesn’t. It’s not how this works.

Wordlessly, Harry kneels down, unbuckles him. Luckily, he’s half hard already. He does not play around, he never does, not with him. He takes him in his mouth and sucks.

Charlie grunts over him, but Harry can't hear him. He’s far away in the past.

He loves this, ever since that day. He can't get it out of his head. But he’s not weak like Karkaroff, no one will ever use him like that. _No one_. He’s in control of every minute and every second of this. He loves this, the power in his hand, in his mouth.

Snape would hate it, to be told he cannot touch, he cannot order, he cannot demand. But Harry revels in the idea. It’s what would make it so special. Make his skin scorching. The fight, the passion, the desire. He knows it’s there. But Snape’s a fucking coward.

But Snape has a limit, a barrier, a number that he will not be able to overcome, to push further, to run away from. And Harry will wait. Patiently at times, and not so patiently on occasions such as this. Irascibly, on the edge, anxiously, impetuously running into situations. 

o.O.o

His resolve lasts as long as a teenage boy with a whore. His curiosity is far greater. Potter could not mean that, not possibly. But he needs to find out.

Which is why he’s back at the Gala not ten minutes later.

The garden seems empty on the first look, but Severus hears them clearly. He walks closer. He moves between bushes noiselessly. Not that he needs to. Potter’s loud enough to suppress any noise Severus might make.

Grunts, loud and heavy fill the air.

It is not even that Potter is on his knees, sucking a cock that’s surprises him. Not even the fact that the boy is doing it rather well.

But why? Why is he doing this? He has a life with the Weasley chit. He has a _girl_ friend.

Yet here he is, his mouth wrapped around a hard cock like he was born to do that.

This scene cannot be pure accident, of course. It was staged. Severus has to see this. But why?

Is this fucking payback?

He almost walks there to kick Potter’s arse for this stunt. Payback? Poetic justice? Really?

He snorts like an angry bull, grabs the bush not to walk there and hurt Potter. The things he could do to that insolent brat. The things he wants to do to that foolish boy. It’s so wrong.

Potter’s eyes shot open, he scans his surroundings then smiles. Licks the cock that’s in his face.

“Hello,” he says looking straight at the bushes where Severus hides.

He cannot be seen, Snape think. There is no way. There is complete darkness and he’s wearing black. Potter could not see him. Yet his heart beats faster. He wants to run, he wants to leave.

“Took you a while to notice me,” says the man over Potter.

Is that fucking Charlie Weasley? At least, stays in the family, Snape thinks bitterly.

Potter, the good little boy, takes the head in his mouth, sucks on it once, twice, grunts as he licks the side of the cock. “Been watching you ever since.” He says to the bushes once again.

“Since when?” Weasley asks.

Potter doesn’t answer. Why would he? The sentence wasn’t meant for that ginger idiot. It was meant for Snape. And Snape knows exactly what it means.

But why. What game is this? What absolute nonsense?

Potter should have forgotten that night. It was so long ago. Potter was _supposed_ to forget that night. It meant nothing. It was a joke, nothing more. Not even that – no one laughed after all.

Potter gives the cock a long lick, sucks the tip.

“Fuck, Harry you’re so good,” Weasley grunts, hand fisting in his own hair. How the hell can he resist grabbing that black mop, Snape cannot even fathom.

Potter sits back on his heels, looking bored all of a sudden. “Did you come here to talk, or to…”

“ _That_. I’m here for _that_.” Weasley says quickly.

Everyone’s here for _that_. Except Snape wasn’t invited. He should go, leave this. This is not for him to see. He should never see Potter like this.

“Then shut up.” Potter says, voice dark.

It’s the tone of that voice that makes Snape stay, the authority in it. The power pulls him in too.

He can't take his eyes away. The boy does it so well, takes it all. Eyes closed he concentrates. His mouth moves, lips tight, he barely gags.

Fucking damn.

Two minutes. That’s all it takes, and Snape doesn’t want to go there to kick Potter but to take Weasley’s place. He sees it play out in his mind’s eyes. Potter wouldn’t move. He would gladly go on, the same way he was ready to go on that night. Fucking hell.

Not even eighteen, he tries telling himself, he screams desperately in his mind just to stop his limb moving towards Potter. So young, _too_ young. Always out of reach.

What hell is this? What personal inferno is this that he cannot walk away. Why does his body not obey? Why does it rather listen to Potter’s keen moans, his sweet grunts. What spell binds him that he cannot look away, awaiting the moment that green eyes would open and look at him again?

Potter cannot know he is here. It is impossible. He cannot know it, cannot want for it to happen. It has been so long, those memories should have been long forgotten. It’s only in Snape’s head and this is nothing else, just a cruel coincidence.

He closes his eyes, he’s not supposed to see this. But it’s worse in his mind. The darkness should be a bliss, but it’s a curse showing things that will never happen. That are not allowed to happen.

His eyes must be open because he sees Weasley shudder. Potter leans away but keeps jerking him. He wouldn’t let the come near his mouth or even face.

When it’s done, Potter stands, nods towards the door. “See you in a bit.”

Weasley goes away without another word, as if this would not be the first time this happened. Given how practiced Potter is, it probably wasn’t. He watches him leave, waits until the door closes behind him.

Severus should leave too, if not walk, then at least apparate away, given he doubts his legs would take him any further.

“Two more years,” Potter says, his voice an angry hiss.

There is no one there. Potter could never see Snape and Snape isn’t supposed to be there in the first place, which means Potter talks to himself. It’s a logical conclusion. Yet Severus know, he is _one hundred percent certain_ that Potter’s every word has been to him.

“And I’m coming for you.”

Is that a threat? An offer? A promise?

He needs to forget Potter. This is not right, it never will be. He needs to forget the boy. That night. That offer.

That number.

Snape tears into his hair. Watches as Potter vanishes the come from this hand. As he watches him turn to leave, he slowly steps out of the darkness.

“Spunk not up to your taste?” he asks cruelly.

Potter snorts. Dark gaze sweeps up and down on Severus' body. “I’d have swallowed yours.” Potter says easily.

Snape’s knees buckle. He swallows hard, takes a deep breath. If it’s all just a game to Potter, he won’t back down.

“Kneel down again and we can make that happen.”

Potter slowly looks at the ground, then back at Snape. Did Potter just consider it? Falling to his knees, just for Snape? Fucking hell. What a fool. What a bloody fool. Both of them. But especially Severus for playing these stupid games with Potter.

Potter moves closer, wipes the corners of his mouth.

“I know you,” he shakes his head. “You’re too much of a coward.”

“You know shit, Potter.” Severus snarls.

He knows what Potter wants to do, why he’s coming closer and closer. He cannot stop it, though. Watches it in small motion as the boy – just a boy, eighteen, he repeats over and over his head – gently brushes his cloak aside. Payback, indeed.

“Nice,” Potter comments, eyes glued to Snape’s erection. He bites his lower lip, beautiful emerald eyes look up at Snape. “You know what, I might be wrong after all.” He says then does fall on his knees.

Heart suddenly hammering, Snape jumps back a step. This is unreal.

Potter smirks, hands lifted in the air, surrendering. “So, are you a coward?”

The word infuriates Snape. He steps back in front of Potter. Grips into his hair, jerks his head back hard enough that Potter grunts in pain. The line of his neck is so tense, his Adam’s apple all but cuts through his skin. Snape fucking wants to lick it, instead he snarls into Potter’s face. “I _won't_ touch you.”

“Never said that,” Potter groans. That sound is not of pain. His eyes are stuck on Severus’ cock.

This is insane. This should never happen.

“One touch,” Potter whispers, almost pleading.

Snape lets him go. He does not move away though. He watches and waits. What for, he’s not certain. Perhaps for Potter to start thinking again. Or to reach out. To touch.

Potter does so. Gaze flashing between Snape’s eyes and his erection, he slowly lifts a hand and touches Snape’s thigh. He’s an inch away from his prick and Snape can already feel himself burn.

The next moment Potter’s mouth is on his cock. He is sucking it through layers and layers but Severus almost faints.

He jumps away, “You little shit,” he snarls. He marches away. Enough if this. This went far enough.

Potter’s laughing. It makes him stop. It makes him livid.

“It _was_ just one touch.” Potter is grinning as he stands up, he can hear it in his voice.

Snape walks up to him and slaps him. The sound of it rings in the air between them. The back of his hand burns with the same intensity as his cock.

Potter looks up, smirk on his face. Blood trickles from his split lip.

They stare at each other for a long moment.

Snape moves before he could think. He grabs into that infuriatingly messy hair and crushes his mouth to Potter’s. He bites Potter’s already bleeding lower lip, grunts at the taste of copper, at the body that collides with his.

They tear at each other like animals. Potter whimpers, pain and pleasure mixes in his voice. He’s so fucking needy as he clings to Snape, both hands in long black hair, never letting go.

But it needs to end. Severus pushes him away.

“It’s not possible.” He shakes his head.

Potter just smirks. “Whatever helps you sleep.”

“I can't…” Snape pants. “Look at yourself.”

He’s not sure whom he’s trying to convince, because Potter does not move an inch, just stands there.

He does look over his body though. “Too young?” he asks, all casual.

“You haven’t even turned bloody eighteen!” Snape almost bellows desperate. He frantically walks away then turns back. Potter lets him go, does not say a word. Does he really not understand?

“I don’t want to see you again,” Severus states, breathing hard. “Not ever.”

Potter shrugs. After all that has just happened here, he _shrugs_.

“I don’t fucking care what you want.” Potter says calmly. He walks up to Severus, who’s unable to move away. He wipes the blood from his lip, licks it off his finger. “You owe me some lessons.”

He grabs Snape’s chin, digs his fingers firmly in Snape’s flesh forcing his mouth open. Severus growls. He grunts. It hurts. So good. There’s passion in the green eyes that hold him captive. He cannot move away. He does not want to.

Potter leans in slowly, thrusts his bloody tongue in Snape’s mouth, swipes it all the way around. Gently. Slowly. Almost sensually.

Snape lets it happen. Knowing precisely what this is. A claim. An assertion of dominance, fierce in its gentle ways. It’s a demand. For him.

It makes his cock rock hard, makes him blaze in the inside.

Potter lets him go and without the strong grip he almost collapses. He _aches_ to not let him go. But he must.

Potter leans to his ear, soft lips brush against it. “The moment I turn twenty…” He whispers darkly, making Severus shudder with need.

Potter walks away, not finishing the sentence. He does not need to. They both know what will happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _You want more? You want more._


	3. Late

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Well here you go, the last chapter. I stand by what I had said though. It would have been fun to leave it at the first chapter or even at the second and never find out what happens. You can leave, still, and think of this as Schrödinger's fic. For you, it's not too late..._

Fifteen minutes to midnight.

Harry watches the clock as seconds tick by. There’s silence at Grimmauld Place. He’s alone, sitting at the kitchen table, holding a mug of tea that went cold around eleven.

A car drives by outside. Warm, summer air rushes in, brushes against him.

He watches the small hand finally go around once. It cannot be. The clock must be faulty. Time cannot go this slow. This is torture. The last six years have been too, filled with patient – and not so patient – waiting but this last day, these last couple hours, _these last couple minutes_ seem to last an individual eternity.

He won’t go there sooner. He won’t be late either. In the end it would be held up against him as an excuse. He won’t have that. Not now. No more excuses. No more cowardice.

His own birthday has never meant much. The first eleven he had not celebrated at all, the next eight were nice and fun but it wasn’t like he expected anything. Now however… this one is special. He has waited years for this and now it seemed it is years more he has to live in these last couple minutes.

 _Twenty_.

The number rings in his ear. It’s always lurking in his mind, unnoticed. It’s like his heartbeat, constantly there, reminding him of this day, this night.

He looks up at the clock. Ten minutes to go.

He stands up, walks to the sink, empties the cold tea. He washes the mug with shaking hands, then wipes his hands in a cloth. He leans against the sink, fingers drumming on the counter, leg twitching.

He’s sweating. Why does he feel anxious now? Why now and not six years ago? Four years ago? Yesterday?

What if? What if he’s not there? What if he’s forgotten? What if he just laughs and sends Harry away?

Nine more minutes till midnight.

He will be there. And he will let Harry in whether he wants to or not. He owes this much for turning Harry’s whole world upside down all those years ago. He owes Harry his lessons.

_Meet me there after midnight and I’ll teach you what satisfying really means._

He can still hear that sentence as if it has happened yesterday. It was six years ago, yet it still sends a wild shiver down his whole body.

Six years. He had grown up since then. Won a war, killed a dark lord, finished auror training. Snape, too, had changed. Not at Hogwarts anymore, running his own business in Diagon Ally. Harry knows where he is, walks by the shop almost daily, just to make sure. Same time, every day. It’s like a mantra now. And black eyes watch him from inside. Always.

Eight minutes to midnight.

“Fucking hell!”

Harry grunts, pushes himself away from the counter. How can time go so slow, when his body vibrates as if he were already shifting in and out of phase, stuck between apparating and staying put.

He roams circles in the kitchen. One, two, three- fifteen, yet the clock still does not seem to move. It is faulty, he concludes, and looks at his wristwatch.

Still seven minutes to go.

He makes a frustrated noise, five fingers brushing his hair back. This waiting is what gives him anxiety not the place he needs to go, not Snape.

He looks down on himself. Shirts, jeans, sneakers. He’s good to go. He has dressed two hours ago. He checks his breath. Frowns, then rummages around for the little box of mints he has. He finds it, takes one, then two more. You never know.

Six minutes to midnight.

He walks to the mirror and looks in it. Green eyes look back. He doesn’t really look like James anymore, his father used to be more handsome. That could only count as a positive, right? He doesn’t even care about the scar, Snape has the fucking Dark Mark etched into his skin, something like this wouldn’t bother him.

He licks his lips, “Hi, I came for my lessons,” He smiles in the mirror. Kind, honest, toothy. He wants to vomit. Idiot.

“Hello,” he tries again, this time the greeting is followed by a lewd half smile. “I’m twenty,” he winks.

Oh god, this is the worst. What will he say? He should have figured this out sooner. He had six fucking years, for god’s sake, how can he not know what to say?

He looks back at his reflection, takes a deep breath. He thinks of Snape, of that night when he was fourteen, then recalls his memories of the night of the Gala. His expression darkens.

“I want you.” Assertive. Fierce. Desperate. “I want you, you fucking bastard.”

That’s a start.

He looks at the clock.

Five minutes to midnight.

“Fuck this shit,” Harry grunts and grabs his keys. He’s about to step out of the kitchen when the flames in the fireplace come alive. Green fire bursts up.

He turns back, disbelieving. Could it be?

“Potter,” calls a face in an urging voice.

Wrong face, wrong voice.

“No.” Harry says clearly. He walks closer.

“We need you, Potter!”

“Robards, no. I asked for tonight off.”

“I know and I wouldn’t call you if it wasn’t important. C’mon, Potter, you have two minutes!”

“Robards, _please_.” Harry begs.

“Weasley’s down, we don’t have time to argue. You need to get there, before somebody dies. It’s not a request, it’s an order, Potter.”

He looks at the clock. Four minutes to midnight.

“Understood, sir.”

When Robards face disappears, Harry walks through.

o.O.o

The shop beneath is closed and silent. It’s supposed to be a quiet evening. He is sitting on his armchair, with a book in his hand, reading. He hasn’t turned a page since nine, but still.

One minute to midnight.

Severus refuses to look at the clock, but he knows. Every cell in his body is counting down, have been counting down probably in the past four years, maybe even – secretly – six.

It’s not like Potter would come. He won’t. He’s certain he won’t. Potter has long forgotten him. He had grown up and now has more important things in his life than either Severus or an offer, a promise made long ago. Not that Severus minds that of course. It has only been expected despite everything. This is what he has been hoping for, after all, wasn’t it?

For Potter to finally leave him be. To never bother him ever again. That was his wish. This _is_ what he wanted. Because then he could move on.

Why is he then every day at the window when Potter walks by? Why? He has moved on, they both have. They do not talk, they not care. Potter has been an adult for two years now, legally anyways.

He can't help it, looks up at the clock.

Eleven. Ten. Nine. Eight.

He can't take his eyes away as the small hand slowly edges upwards.

Seven. Six. Five. Four.

His heartbeat quickens. He won't come. Snape knows it and yet.

Three. Two. One.

He stands up, arms folded.

If Potter does come, he’ll just send him away. This is stupid. He won't come, why would he? They owe nothing to each other. It was just a stupid mistake. Both nights were just that, a mistake, nothing more. But he remembers Potter’s mouth, the taste of blood, the fierce green eyes.

If it was just a mistake how can it be so sweet?

One minute past midnight.

He refuses to think, empties his mind. His legs start moving. They walk him down from his flat to his little shop. He stands facing the door. He waits, breathing fast, arms folded across his chest again. Minutes tick by. Actual minutes. Severus counts them.

It’s already five past midnight.

He hears a noise outside. Gentle, barely audible.

It cannot be. He steps closer, heart hammering.

There it is again, clothes ruffle, footsteps on stone. His hand shakes on the doorknob.

This isn’t happening. Is this true? Can it be true?

He turns the handle and jerks the door open.

A man is pissing on his shop outside.

“Sorry.” He slurs drunkenly, then zips himself up.

Severus watches him stumble away, his stare slowly turning into glare then something even worse. He grabs his wand sends at least twelve curses at the poor bastard ranging from stinging curse to some serious ones that will need medical attention. Not that he cares about it.

He vanishes the piss, then lingers for one more minute. He looks around, but no one walks on the streets this warm July night. There is only silence. No sounds of apparating, or zooming brooms, no hurried footsteps on cobbled stone.

Severus marches inside, the front door banging behind him with a loud crash.

He didn’t really think Potter would come. He didn’t. He has forgotten Potter a long time ago, he has truly, and he was certain Potter felt the same way.

He marches back up. It is better this way. This is how it was supposed to happen. He knows. Why does he feel so wretched then?

He crashes down onto the armchair, he wants to take the book in hand and just forget about this, but his hand does not move. He’s staring into the fire, he does not even blink, his eyes are almost burning.

_How dare Potter?_

The question appears in his mind and he growls. How dare the boy make him promises and not fulfil them? How dare he claim something then ignore it? How does he have the audacity to not come.

He shakes his head.

Wait, hold on, Potter wasn’t supposed to come. Was he?

He was, answers a voice in Severus’ head.

_The moment I turn twenty…_

What’s that, if not a promise.

He’s on his feet before he could think. He grabs his keys, and steps into his shoes. He’s all but running down the stairs once again. The next moment he’s out the door. He almost forgets to close up behind himself, he is twirling on his heels already when he sends a spell. The door rattles, and Severus vanishes.

Twelve Grimmauld Place has not changed much. The park is a bit more run down, but he didn’t come here for that anyway. He looks around, but no one’s nearby. He walks up on the stairs but hesitates for a moment. Thankfully, his pride is greater than any other of his instincts, so he does knock in the end.

No one answers. He knocks again. Still nothing.

His fist drums on the wooden door, he all but kicks the door off but no one comes to answer his call.

It hurts. Fucking hell, it hurts.

 

o.O.o

Robards comes, thanks him for his service. Lives have been saved, bad wizards caught, and no one has sustained any real injury in the end. Ron will be out of St. Mungos’ in a day or two and everything will be back to normal.

“You should go up to the mediwitches, Potter,” he suggests, but Harry just shakes his head. It’s dawn already and this has been a really, _really_ long day. One could say it lasted for almost six years. But now it has ended at last.

“I’m fine,” he says, when Robards places a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Go home, Potter, rest. You have tomorrow off and even if You-Know-Who himself comes back, I won't bother you, son.”

It’s too late now, Harry thinks, but thanks the old man anyway. Duty comes first he knows that, he can't even be angry. He had to be here, his team needed him, and it is fine.

Harry looks around the smoky ruins of the little cottage. Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe he wasn’t destined to go there, they weren’t supposed to meet tonight or any other night. Maybe this is right, and one day, when he will be old, and his hair has fallen out he will see the lesson in all this.

 _Don’t hook up with old men,_ says a wise old voice in his head. Maybe Dumbledore’s, maybe Sirius’. _Don’t want things you’re not supposed to have. The forbidden fruit is forbidden for a reason. Snape’s a bastard, a coward, you have nothing to do with him. He has nothing to do with you._ Yes, this last two was definitely Sirius’ voice. 

He should listen to these advises. They are good advices, true, solid, reasonable. However, truth be told, when was Harry ever reasonable.

o.O.o

Snape sweeps the floor aggressively. Potter has no right to put him through this. The little shit.

He hasn’t slept all night, barely could sit in one place. He already feels sorry for his first customer. Maybe he shouldn’t even open up today. He also craves to be kept busy.

He packs away the broom and looks around. He wants to stay active but there’s nothing left to clean, to pack away, and he’s not in the state of mind to brew. He has nothing to do, and he hates it. He needs to keep busy, otherwise he thinks of Potter and he doesn’t want to think of Potter.

He hears the door rattle when someone tries the handle, then there’s a gentle knock on the door and Severus snaps up his head. Distraction, finally.

“Coming,” he calls to the costumer outside as he walks to the door. He turns the keys and as he opens the door, he says, “You’re early, I usually only open at seven.”

“I’m not early,” Potter says, voice rough, “You and I both know I’m exactly six hours late.”

Severus cannot help but stare. Potter’s clothes are dirty and slightly torn, he has a long cut on his forehead and dried blood darkens half his face. “What the bloody hell happened to you?”

“Something like that, hell.” Potter shrugs. “So?” he asks urgingly.

Suddenly, Severus cannot think. All he sees is the blood, the injury. The face beneath all that grime. Green eyes, soft lips. Older, experienced, not a child anymore.

“So what?”

Potter moves closer, stops only when his toes are almost on the threshold. There is something intimidating in him at the moment. Maybe it’s the blood. Maybe the intense gleam in his green eyes. He smells of smoke, magic, and sweat.

“Still too young?”

He’s kissing Potter before he can realize what he’s doing. Maybe it’s even better this way. Thoughts have a tendency to overcomplicate things, but this is simple. It’s also delicious.

“Not anymore,” he says against Potter’s mouth. He sucks on his lower lip, moans.

Potter grunts, he sounds so needy. Severus presses his tongue in his mouth. It’s so hot. Hand fisted in Potter’s hair, he presses the other man against the doorframe. They kiss like there’s no tomorrow, like they are going to die, and maybe Severus will because his heart can't handle this.

Potter pulls away, breathes, bites his lip. He looks up at Severus, green eyes wild, lips wet. He’s beautiful. He leans to Severus’ neck, kisses it, bits down hard. Severus almost faints.

“You have no idea…” Potter growls against his neck, hands sliding up on Severus’ chest roughly. “No _fucking_ idea…”

Severus has, a little. It has been six years for him, too, and he didn’t have Charlie Weasley along the way to entertain him. He grabs Potter’s arse and pulls him close, pressing his half-hard cock against Potter thigh.

“Maybe I do…” he murmurs as his hand fists in Potter’s hair and he pulls him up for another breath-taking kiss. Potter whimpers into the kiss, and Severus’ knees buckles at the sound.

Hands claw at his shirt, Potter has no patience, he rips it. Severus pulls away looks down on his bared chest, buttonless black shirt. Potter smirks, leans there, places a line of kisses down his neck, over the line of the collarbone. He looks up, not a hint of apology in his eyes.

Mrs Wallaby’s, the next-door neighbour’s, frightened little scream reminds him that they are still, in fact, leaning against the doorway, partly in, mostly out. He pulls away, trying to scramble inside before half of Diagon Alley comes out to see the show.

Potter’s mouth, hungrily sucking on his skin, follows him and so does the rest of his body. He only looks up when the door shuts behind them.

He’s panting, breathless, his green eyes filled with desire and Severus isn’t sure he won't come just from this sight alone. He’s right there with two steps, pressing himself up against Potter.

Potter’s head knocks against the door, he doesn’t seem to care, he moans in pleasure not pain when Severus grabs his cock and starts rubbing him.

No patience might not be such a bad attribute, Severus thinks when Potter unbuckles his own belt and pulls down the zipper. He pushes down jeans and underwear all together and Severus grabs his cock.

“Sweet Merlin,” Potter cries his hands fisting in his hair for a moment, eyes shutting down. Then the hands are fisted in Severus hair, while lips press clumsily against his.

He licks at Potter’s mouth, as he jerks his cock, fingers running on the long, hard member swiftly, firmly.

“Suck me,” Potter begs against his lips. “Please, Snape…”

 _Fucking hell, yes._ Severus is on his knees with a cock in his mouth the next moment, the idea barely just born in his mind, his body already following its lusty urges. Not that it ever occurred to him to say no. Not anymore, not to _this_.

Potter whimpers as Severus sucks on his cock, hands fisted around the shaft, working on it as well. Potter is banging his head against the door over and over again, moaning like a whore. Severus tongues the slit, cups his ball, doing everything to keep those sounds coming.

Then he pulls away, gives one long lick to the tip and waits for Potter to open his eyes and look down on him. When he does, Severus fists one hand around the heavy cock, while he reaches out the other for Potter. He watches Potter boldly, even though he’s the one kneeling.

Green eyes flash and Potter grasps his wrist, his hold is fierce, almost breaking bones. He lifts it to his mouth, gives a long lick to Severus’ point finger then the middle too. His eyes are on Severus as he lowers his mouth on the two digits.

Severus breathes heavily as he watches _and senses_ what Potter is doing to his finger. He feels it straight on his cock. Slowly, his mouth opens too, and Potter’s prick moves gently between his lips. His tongue moves on the underside of Potter’s cock and Potter licks his fingers the same way. When he shifts Potter deeper into his mouth, Potter takes him in deeper, too, and Severus can all but touch his tonsil with the tip of his finger.

When even on his palm saliva streams he takes his fingers back.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he tells Potter as he makes small, unobtrusive circles at his arsehole. “If you look away, I kick you out.”

Potter nods, breathes in, then out, green eyes wide open.

 _Oh…_ Those green eyes.

Severus jerks him, languidly for now as his finger moves, shifts against wrinkled skin. When he pushes in, Potter falls forward, leaning on Severus' shoulder for support even though it couldn’t be painful. He can slip his finger in and out easily.

Potter doesn’t look away, god bless, because there’s no way Severus could send him away. He barely blinks, his eyes are wide with pleasure, a pool of lust Severus wants to submerge in.

“Six years…” Potter moans. “Took you fucking six years to pluck up the courage to do this.”

Oh that’s how it is.

Without removing his finger, Severus stands up slowly. He leans closer to Potter, second finger waiting at his entrance. Only a little pressure has Potter mewling.

“I don’t fuck children, Potter.” He says in a coarse voice.

Wild green eyes are on him. “Name’s Harry.”

“What makes you think I care?” Snape says darkly.

Potter hooks his arms slowly around Severus’ neck as if wanting to embrace him, leans to his ear.

“You’d have fucked me already if you didn’t…” he whispers in a sinfully innocent voice.

Severus’ fingers are up inside him the next moment, hard enough to have Potter stand on his tiptoes. A little cry, partly surprise, partly pain, mostly sheer pleasure slips out of Potter’s mouth. Severus takes that as an apology, even though deep down he knows Potter’s right.

His wrist aches from the force he pushes his fingers up but it’s still worth it because Potter is moaning in his mouth, kisses him wetly, bites down hard enough to make Severus growl, but it’s all so sweet in the end.

When Potter hooks a leg around Severus’ waist, Severus rewards the brilliant idea with a third finger and his other hand fisting around Potter’s cock. Potter, thankfully, has no mind to touch him, he would come that instance regrettably; instead he clings to Severus, fingers digging in Severus’ hair, hand fisted in his shirt.

Potter thrusts forwards, fucks Severus’ hand while fingers move inside his body, yet he still has the sense to grunt out, “Not yet…” when he’s close.

Severus wants to go on, wants to make him come like this, but Potter pushes him away.

“Enough,” he says with a growl. He kicks and drags off the rest of his clothes and stands there at the door to Severus’ shop wearing nothing besides his determined expression.

He steps closer, grabs Severus’ cock, kisses him wildly. Severus grunts, moans even. He’s so hard that touch alone could get him to come. As they kiss, raw and passionate, Potter pushes him further and further back. The counter stops them in the end and Potter turns them around.

He hops on the counter as if he owns the god damn shop. He’s stroking himself, he’s fucking naked and still he has the confidence of Gilderoy Lockhart.

“C’mon, Severus,” he says with a smirk, “You made me wait for it long enough.”

Breathing hitched, Severus can't help but stare at this fool. Why him? He doesn’t understand what a man with a body like that, with eyes like that wants to do with him. But he moves closer, because hell, he was good, for _six fucking years_ he behaved, and Potter had more than enough time to think this through and realize he didn’t want this.

But apparently, he does.

Severus moves closer, steps between Potter’ thighs. Potter looks him over once, then twice, his gaze lingering on Snape’s erection. He rubs his own against it, then looks up.

Severus unbuckles his black belt, slips it out of the hooks completely. He grabs one end in each hand then hooking it over Potter’s head, he pulls him closer.

He kisses him, deep and sensual. He does it because he can, because he wants to and finally, after all these years, he’s even allowed to. He breathes in deep, tongue licking into Potter’s mouth.

He pulls back, drops the belt to the ground.

He thugs his shirt from his pants, Potter takes both sides and rips it all the way down. He kisses Severus’ neck, his chest, rests his forehead against Severus’ shoulder, while Severus unbuttons his pants.

Hands slide on his bare chest, Potter’s mumbling something, but he can't tell what because he barely hears, barely sees as he pulls down the zipper and Potter’s fingers slip inside, straight beneath his underwear, gripping, pulling, firm, and just _so fucking good_.

“Fucking damn…” Potter says, eyeing Severus’ cock while stoking him. “Worth the wait…”

Pants pooling around his ankles, ripped shirt hanging on his shoulders he should look ridiculous, but Potter’s staring at him like he’s the bloody grand prize, like he’d be some god of fucking desire.

He sweeps off everything from the counter, potions break on the ground, important letters soak up purple oils but it’s not like he cares, there’s only one thing important on that desk, and he’s waiting for Severus with his legs apart.

“Lie down,” Severus instructs Potter, but the bloody fool stays as he is, always rebelling, always fighting back.

“I just want it easy on you.” Severus tells him as he aligns himself.

“I wouldn’t be doing this with _you_ if I wanted it easy.” Green eyes burn into his mind, and he knows even if this is the last time that they do this, he’ll remember this moment forever.

Potter kisses him, ardent and wild, presses his chest closer to Severus, then bites down on Severus' lower lip. “Say my name.” He demands.

Severus starts pressing inside as he sighs, “Harry…”

“ _Severus_ ,” Comes the reply, urging and keen, a permission and plea all together.

He thrusts in, hard, fast, merciless. Harry cries out, back arching.

 _Six years_ – fucking six years of frustration is behind each and every thrust. He pulls out and drives back in, bodies slapping, both of them grunting with a mix of pain and pleasure. It’s so harsh it’s almost an assault but Potter loves it too, he moves with the same insane wildness, bites Severus, marks him over and over again.

Now he lies back, grasping the edge of the counter and Severus slams into him.

“Oh fuck yeah,” Potter cries out. “Yes, yes, _yes_ …”

Severus only agrees. This is perfection, if it exists. He slows down a bit, let’s Potter breath a bit, grabs his cock, jerks him a couple of times. He leans down, kisses a perky nipple, licks the sweaty bare chest. Potter grips his shirt, pulls him further up.

He looks Severus in the eyes, holds his gaze. He moves his hips slowly up and down as he says, “You’re mine.”

What a weird thing to say with a cock up his ass, Severus thinks. It’s true though. He barely moves, Potter fucks himself on his cock keeping eye contact. It so fucking hot, he’s slamming into him again within seconds.

 Heavy breathing, cries and moans fill the air. Not even the spilt potions can overpower the smell of sex and Potter’s musky scent.

Harry leans on his arm, they meet half way, kiss. It’s the only thing between them that’s gentle, everything else is hard, wild, it’s desperate and eager.

His body can't even handle it much longer, Severus knows, recognizes the signs.

“I’m close…” he grunts against Harry’s mouth.

He moves away slightly, withdraws leaving just the tip in.

Hand fists into his hair. “Don’t you dare pull out,” Potter all but growls, then kisses him roughly.

“As if,” Severus laughs, a dark sound. The idea has never even occurred.

He grabs Potter by his thighs and pulls him on his cock. Harry cries out, whimpers, “Again,” he begs.

Severus complies, thrusts hard and deep once-twice-third time almost ends with him coming. He’s still for a moment then grabs Harry’s cock, starts jerking him with every thrust. He’s slightly gentler now just to prolong the inevitable, but he knows himself.

He’s only trying to hold on long enough to have Harry come first, almost even manages but when he can feel Harry’s tight arse contract around him, he loses it, his mind, too, most likely. He comes, prodding still, hips rolling back and forth. He hears Harry’s frantic cries, wishes he can answer them, say his name, say anything but other than a satisfied, hoarse moan, nothing comes out.

He crashes down, gasping for air against Harry’s chest. There’s none so he seeks out his mouth, maybe he can borrow some from his lungs. Kindly, Potter gives, offers kisses, bites and sucks on Severus tongue. In the end, Severus pulls away even more breathless.

o.O.o

A shower later, Harry is waiting for Severus at the small kitchen table in the apartment over the shop. He has the Daily Prophet and a mug of the tea as company, until Severus gets out of the shower as well.

“You shouldn’t read this garbage,” he calls out when he hears the bathroom door open and close.

“I like the crosswords,” Severus comment as he walks in the kitchen. Harry looks up. Snape’s dressed once again, black pants and black shirt covers the body he would prefer to keep uncovered for the rest of the day.

“Do you have lots of these black shirts?” He asks casually.

“That depends,” Snape says. “Do you wish to rip them all off me?”

“Most likely, yes,” Harry answers honestly.

“I’ll change,” Snape says and turns away, but Harry grabs his hand. He looks back, black eyes guarded.

“It doesn’t really matter what you put on,” he smirks.

Snape rolls his eyes. “I’m not your sex toy, Potter.”

“Then what are you?”

Snape looks down on him. His lips are curving as he says, “I’m your professor.”

“What?” They can't be starting this bullshit all over again, he thinks.

But then Severus cups his chin and lifts his face. He leans down to him, close enough that Harry can smell the scent of his soap.

“Didn’t you come here for lessons?”

“Oh, you mean the ones you offered six years ago?” Harry chuckles.

Lips brush over his as Severus kisses him slowly. “Better late than never.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This has been such a fun journey, thank you all for coming along and demanding more. seriously. i had so much fun writing this and I can only hope you'll have just as much fun reading it. Thanks Lovelies <3_  
> PS: Please dont ask for more hahah


End file.
